Look Before You Sit Down in Paia

The condo we stay in is in Maalaea village. It's in between the ocean front and sugar cane fields. I love the semi-rural, semi-neighborhood here. Population is small and people mind their own business. You can sit in your jammies on the lanai with morning coffee and nobody cares.

You can spend an entire day on the lanai, watching the harbor, observing wildlife... doing nothing. There's a monk seal, a couple of eagle rays, a heron, jumping fish, mongoose slipping through the landscaping, geckos chirping, and brightly colored cardinals contrasting the green grass.

Everyone who visits my condo asks about sugar cane spiders, since the field is so close. I've never seen one, I tell them, but I understand they are very big and run fast. They must like staying out there in the cane, and that's fine with me.

One afternoon, Fran suggested we drive up to Paia, on the Northshore, and do some shopping. Maybe find lunch. We might as well bust a move, we've been sitting so much. So Fran and Judy and I drove 18 miles to the former plantation town, now tourist attraction. There used to be a big sugar mill here, built in the 1880s, and the population was once over 10,000 people.



Sugarcane and Red Dirt

 Most of those people, immigrants from China, Portugal, Japan, Philipines (in that approximate order) lived in camp-like housing. Eventually, as they prospered, they moved into tract houses in Kahului. The camps disappeared and the sites plowed into more sugar cane plantings. The storefronts remain, and are occupied now by boutiques, galleries, and cafes. It's very quaint, no ABC Stores here, like you see in most Hawaiian tourist centers.

Paia is a bedroom community nowadays. Commerce is centered in Kahului, but Paia is a nice place to live. Sugar cane fields border on the mauka (inland) side, and some of the best windsurfing beaches on the makai (ocean) side. People who live here know each other, and are very friendly toward visitors.

The three of us covered ground with enthusiasm once we claimed the elusive parking space. It's nice ducking into an air-conditioned shop in the 86 degree weather. Store keepers are good greeters, asking where we are from, and telling stories about how they came to Paia to stay. It's a hard place to leave, apparently. Some residents hold three jobs to get by rather than return to the mainland.

"Oh, look! Crepes!" I exclaimed. I love crepes. I could smell them baking on grills.
"And French wine, too. This is it!" My friends weren't sure at first. Most of Paia looks shabby and dusty because of the tradewinds. They come from the Northwest, remember, and the beach is just North of the main street. All around are those cane fields and that iron oxide dirt. You can sweep it away, you can rinse it away, but you cannot remove the rusty stains it leaves everywhere. Paia is authentically weathered. Old woodframe buildings have survived over a hundred years of tropical storms, termites, and sometimes neglect.

Storefronts in Paia, Cafe des Amis nearest

We sat at one of the shabby chic tables, and the server brought us a bottle of filtered water and three rustic glasses. Oh, that tastes good! Besides crepes, there are curries and sandwiches, but I'm focused. We will have a bottle of that Cote du Rhone and I'll have that mozzarella tomato basil crepe.

You know the food is good when it's on the table and everybody stops talking.

We paid the bill and left the cafe. Judy decided she needed to go back and use the washroom, so Fran and I waited outside.

Judy ran up to us a few minutes later shaking like a leaf. It's pretty unusual to see her rattled about anything, so it must be a big deal.

"The paper towel roll was empty, so I reached up to get a new one. This huge spider jumped out of it and ran down my arm! He's in the toilet bowl!"

Fran had to go look. "Yep. He's still there, and that's a big one."

Now I had to go look. Wow. He's as big across as a tuna can and not delicate. He was inside the bowl, partially under the rim. I walked to the kitchen and told a server about him, thinking he should be removed before the next customer went into the washroom. The girl shrugged and said that they don't bite.

The cane spider, or brown huntsman spider, does not spin a web. It hunts insects on foot, mostly at night. So the slumbering creature was probably as startled as Judy was. In it's sleepy state, it rested in the toilet where it landed, and unless aroused again, it would probably stay put until nightfall.

But I don't think that's likely.

World Travel My Style

Mom:

I'll try to give you a call tomorrow or the day after. Slight change of plans... I want to see if you can fly down first, and a little earlier... say any time in Feb... beg, mid, or end. Shu Li has never been on an airplane before nor left the country and is moderately afraid. She would rather meet you first and have our families know each other before traveling across the ocean into an unknown world. That's not how she said it, but I'm pretty sure it's how she feels.

Maybe I can meet you at Harbin's airport and we stay for 4 or 5 days at Harbin's Holiday Inn, then fly home as a group? We'll crash in WA for 2 weeks probably, then head back. It'll be a very exciting gig for all of us.

You are probably numb to surprises at this point, but in 2-3 years she and I might be opening that restaurant in America. 'Eat Chinese food downstairs, learn the Chinese language upstairs. Hmm *ponders*

Love,

Your son, Rick

Rickshaw, Harbin style

Hey, Rick:

So you want your old mother to fly over the ocean to Bejing by myself and change planes to go North to Harbin without being able to speak a word of Chinese. Then you want me to stay only five days, which isn't much time to go porcelain shopping, but just enough time to get food poisoning, and get major trauma when Shu Li tells me I ate a dog or a horse as well.

I suppose the ice and snow sculpture is all taken down and I'd just have to freeze my butt off without the pretty scenery. What's the average temperature? Minus 20? I hear the air is heavily polluted with coal smoke in the winter.

Ok. I'll do it. Let me figure out how. Send me as much information as you can.

Love and miss you,

Mom

Lokahi

Ka'ahumanu Church, Wailuku, Hawaii

On a recent visit to the island of Maui, I made time to attend Sunday services at Ka'ahumanu Church in Wailuku. I'd been wanting to do this for many years. My favorite aunt told me that she attends Hawaiian churches when she visits the islands, and she said the singing is beautiful and the congregations are friendly and welcoming.

Wailuku has several historic church buildings. I believe there are fourteen on the island of Maui. Most are Congregational in origin, these being established by the American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions of Boston, Massachussetts in the early 1800s. Some of the family members of these missionary families, such as the Baldwins and the Baileys, also pioneered the sugar industry. That makes for fascinating visits of historic sites and museums throughout the Hawaiian Islands if you are visiting.

These were missionaries of an untypical sort. They more or less personalized Christianity for indigenous people, such as the Hawaiians. One of the first things they did was teach the Hawaiians to read and write in their native language, so they had to put together an alphabet and written text for them to learn. The Bible was translated into Hawaiian language in this process, as were hymnals. As the Hawaiian people became converted, by choice not force, they also learned to speak, read and write in English. Some of the royalty and upper class even went on to higher education.

These Congregationalist missionaries provided as well for the Hawaiians as they were able, having a deep respect and love for the people and their culture. In fact, when the government of the Hawaiian territory outlawed the language and the culture in a wrong-minded attempt to unify the cultures, the Congregational church was the preserver of these things because the goverment could not violate the sanctuary of the church.

This particular parish in which I attended service, is named for Queen Ka'ahumanu, a devout Christian convert who was probably most the most influential in transforming the entire kingdom from the ancient to the modern. Ka'ahumanu was the favorite and most powerful wife of King Kamehameha I, who united the islands under one rule. She visited the site before the present structure was built, and she requested that it be named for her. The honor was gladly bestowed.

Queen Ka'ahumanu

I arrived at Ka'ahumanu Church a few minutes early. I stood on the big lawn in front of the New England style architecture and watched as a procession of Daughters of Hawaii and their escorts were given entry ahead of the other congregants. Dressed in all-black or all-white Victorian dresses, they each took the arm of an escort dressed in black suit with yellow and red cape. As I approached the steps, they smiled to welcome me. A deep, masculine voice chanted an invocation in Hawaiian as we all entered the sanctuary and found our seats with the procession in the front rows, the rest of us seated behind.

The Daughters of Hawaii were founded by a group of pastor's daughters to preserve Hawaiian places and language.

There were three of us caucasian faces in the room full of brown people. The Hawaiians are not small. They are large, strong and handsome people. And although few of them are of pure blood, having intermarried with Westerners, Asians and other Polynesians, there is no mistaking the "brand."

It is bright, and light and breezy inside. The windows and doors all open to the tropical air. The walls are painted white and the trim painted green like so many plantation houses in the islands. Decor is simple, the windows are plain glass, and athough there is koa wood and fine linens at the altar, a simple wooden cross is the focal point.

"Ekolu Mea Nui" sang the Na Po'e (the congregation sang the hymn "The Three Greatest Things" from a hymnal printed in Hawaiian. I held it in my hands as I listened)

"Ka hea ho'omana," said the Alaka'i. ("Call to worship," said the pastor.) "On the second day of Advent, Christ connects us to the church in the spirit of Lokahi, the Hawaiian word for Unity."

The Alaka'i, whose name is Kahu Loweana Hau, gave a sermon on the topic of unity beginning with reminding folks that no matter how the local political elections turned out, everyone should be supportive, not devisive, in living with decisions as they are made. He pointed to a portrait of King Kamehameha V, and said that in celebrating the birthday of this past monarch today, we should remember also that the king was a uniter and a peaceful man. Alaka'i quoted Mark Twain:

Kamehameha V, also known as King Lot. He was the last monarch, having left no heir.

"He was a wise sovereign; he had seen something of the world; he was educated and accomplished, and he tried hard to do well by his people, and succeeded. There was no trivial royal nonsense about him; He dressed plainly, poked about Honolulu, night or day, on his old horse, unattended; he was popular, greatly respected, and even beloved."

The structure of the hour of worship was typical Congregational style, identical to services I've attended at home. The communion was a little different, though. Alaka'i presented a whole loaf of homemade bread, broke it in half as he gave the blessing and poured wine from a caraffe into a chalice. We congregants came forward, broke a bit off the loaf and dipped it into the wine before eating it.

The singing was as my aunt described. Harmonious and robust. I can still hear it sometimes when I am falling asleep. The chanting at the beginning and end of the service stirs the emotions and resonates in your very bones.

Upon the conclusion of the service, all are embraced by Alaka'i at the exit.

"Hi!" He said to me in my native tongue. "I am glad you found us and came to join us. May God bless you and keep you."

"Aloha," I replied to him. "Beautiful service. Thank you."

I walked across the big lawn toward my car. I turned around for a moment and looked back at the beautiful building with the West Maui Mountains as a backdrop. Just up the road going into the Iao Valley, King Kamehameha the Great defeated his last enemy army and made the Iao stream run red with blood and clogged with bodies, beginning the unification of the islands. His queen, Ka'ahumanu assisted him by forming alliance with the Westerners and obtaining cannon and muskets for her husband's effort.

Kamehameha the Great

It is said that Ka'ahumanu's life as a royal Hawaiian did not please her and she was eager to reject the old ways for the new. She made great personal sacrifice and good use of her position to make vast changes for the love of the Christian church and of her people. This is a good article about who she may have been:
http://www.aloha-hawaii.com/hawaii/queen+kaahumanu/

Lokahi. Unity in the marriage of Kamehameha and Ka'ahumanu, Ka'ahumanu and the church, the church and the people.

Lovely service indeed, on the second day of Advent.

HO'ONANI I KA MAKUA MAU.


Iao Valley and Wailuku painted by Edward Bailey, a benefactor of Ka'ahumanu Church, in the mid-1800s



Letter From My Son, Rick, Harbin, China, December 2010

Harbin is known for it's Snow and Ice Festival every winter

I should probably write a slightly detailed note on some of the things that have happened to me during my China adventures.

Firstly, I would like to dispell some of the misconceptions I’ve heard floating around.

#1: China is a 3rd world country- Maybe; I’m not really sure. Harbin is not 3rd world. Everyone in my city has a job and everone has a bed. A common worker has enough money to eat good food every day and have some fun on the weekends, just like America. It may seem like average working wages are lower, but the cost of living is also much lower. It balances out.

#2: China is a dangerous place- Not true. China is safer than the U.S.; at least in Harbin. The homicide rate is about 200% less than Detroit, anyway. Because of the crowds and the contant construction, it appears dirty and dangerous; but no one has so far harrassed me. Occasionally a taxi driver or a street vendor will over charge me, but that doesn’t happen anymore now that I speak well and I don’t look lost.

#3: China has an oppressing government and human rights abuses are rampant- Although the laws sound strict, they are rarely enforced unless there is a complaint; and nobody does that. People here, based on what I’ve seen, take care of their own problems. Unfortunately, the media appreciates taking isolated incidents out of context and blowing them up, in spite of the fact that similar things happen in America.

#4: China is more socialistic than the U.S.- Tax rates for average citizens are actually lower; zero actually, if you’re below the 2000RMB mark. There aren’t any food stamps and there isn’t any subsidized housing. If you don’t work and you’ve got nobody to take care of you, you don’t eat. It may be a cruel system, but it is a fair one.

With that said, my adventures in China were (of course) scary at first, but I have very quickly fallen in love with the place. My first 3 days after arrival were spent in my hotel room, too terrified to explore Harbin’s loud, dirty streets alone; but when I finally lept in, I was filled with light. The people here are the most helpful, respectful, and interesting I have ever seen; and when I talk to them in their own language they are as thrilled as I.

Harbin has a population of about nine million. It doesn’t seem to be very big, but it is very dense. It also seems that every time I bend down to tie my shoes, I am in somebody’s way. Whenever I’m in a hurry, someone is in my way. It was fun and interesting at first, but it gets kind of annoying after awhile… not being able to take a casual walk down the sidewalk. It feels more like I’m a fish swimming upriver. Drivers beep their horns as often as they use their turn signals. It gave me a headache at first, but my ears have now grown numb to it.

Heilongjiang University, where I study, takes up an area about six times larger than Skagit Valley College. It’s about one mile long in all directions. 30,000 students live here with me, which I believe is about half the population of Anacortes? Regardless, students travel from class to class in giant rivers. Imagine needing to look both ways before crossing the street to avoid running into PEOPLE. This is Chinese life.

My dorm is the equivalent of a 3 star hotel, equipped with internet, a TV, room service, maid service, and a private bathroom. It’s a great luxury, compared to the packed-like-sardines Chinese student dorms that smell like rotting cabbage. It’s pretty cheap ($100 per month). The most delightful aspect is I can talk to students from all over the world here. Most of them are Russian or Korean, but there are also students from Africa, Italy, South America, and other parts of Europe. English speakers are quite rare, so most of the time we find ourselves talking in Chinese.

Dorm at college

My roommate is Russian, but he is of a different ethnicity, meaning he looks like he’s Chinese. He does not speak English but his Chinese is near-perfect. The guy is a clean freak and he sometimes has anger problems, but he’s very smart, very honorable, and we more often get along very well. That’s the #1: having a roommate that I know isn’t going to steal from me.

My Chinese classes are very difficult, primarily because (I think) nobody really knows how to effectively teach Chinese to foreigners. It’s being taught to us in a similar manner as it is taught to Chinese children, which doesn’t really work. I find myself preferring to learn by myself, writing the calligraphy and practice talking to actual people, and I’m very tempted to dismiss my classes very soon and do just that. I’ll skip the technicalities; I can go on and on.

A lot of very good things have happened to me here. #1, I’ve landed myself a relatively well-paying job teaching oral English to children. It’s a very enlightening experience for me as I get to help the little ones learn while gaining much needed skills. #2, I’ve landed myself a girlfriend, Shu Li. She’s 46 years old, and takes good care of me, as I do her. Someday, I’m going to go into business with her and make a lot of money. There are many ways on which her and I can help each other out. Maybe it is strange to be with an older woman, but I don’t care. I’m very happy, and it is what I want.

Rick in classroom where he teaches

Speaking of Shu Li, I’d better continue this later. I’d better head over and see what’s for dinner :D.

Shu Li

I Give Cathy the Finger

John and I spent the weekend on our boat. We took off Thursday afternoon and stayed the first two nights in Friday Harbor on San Juan Island. This is a nice little town, served by the Washington State Ferry and also well-visited by travelers in seaplanes and small jets. There are some world class marinas on each end of the island, and it has to be one of the most beautiful places in the world. I like the city marina, and although it is basic moorage, you can walk easily into the town center where there are shops and many good restaurants. There is also the Whale Museum on the bluff with a great overlook of the islands and boat traffic. You can start at the Whale Museum to explore the local history. The docents will show you many paths to wander and wonder.

On the third night, we got a call from some friends who have a cabin on Decatur Island. That sounded good to me.

There's a real shower in Tom and Cathy's cabin. And real beds. Don't get me wrong, I like a little boat camping, but it is camping afterall. It is not the soft life that I am used to and prefer. I never sleep properly in a campground, RV park, or marina. Any seating surfaces are scaled down, the bed is usually hard, the other campers too close and too loud for privacy. In a marina you always get those early morning people who just want to peek into your boat because they are curious. And yes, they will knock on your door even if you have the windows covered.

Cathy and Tom made us all a nice dinner of grilled chicken, roasted sweet potatoes and spinach salad. We watched a movie from full-sized sofas and got a good nights' sleep. The morning brought full color views from their picture windows of marine layer lifting over bright blue water. The Anacortes to Lopez ferry scooted by and seemed to pull the curtain of fog in it's wake, revealing bright and sunny morning sky.

A day fit for picture postcards and scrapbook memories. The sun felt warm and comforting as we enjoyed a breakfast of biscuits and gravy with apple slices and good coffee. Let's walk the beaches, someone said.

The cabin sits on a long gravel beach dotted with summer cabins. There is a salt water lagoon, then a spit that you can cross to another long gravel beach with more views of evergreen islands and shipping lanes. Cathy likes to look for agates, and she has quite a collection of them.

My eyes aren't tuned into those. Somehow, decades have passed and I haven't found a single one. But there are so many treasures that wash up; we found several jellyfish the size of dinner plates, colored crimson and magenta at their centers. John tried to relaunch one, but it was quite dead and dissolved in the cold water. Tentacle pieces and pigment spread slowly, the jelly body sinking out of sight.

We walked by driftwood fortresses built by children and parents over the summer months. They have not yet been swept away by winter storms.Tom found an old crab pot buoy painted red and blue. It looks good hung above one of the forts.

There were footprints of island deer to follow along the waterline, sand fleas to stir up, flotsam and jetsam from boats to examine. There must be a Starbucks nearby, said Tom. Here is a smoothie cup with the cap and straw still in it. You are never far from Starbucks in the Northwest.

Cathy found two agates.

I found something else. It's a small bone, I said. Too heavy for a fish or a bird. Long and smooth, it had been tumbling and washing long enough to be turning a bit translucent, but it was solid.

I think it's a human finger.

No one believes me. Cathy took it and put it in her pocket. I'll show it to Kevin, she said, and see what he thinks. Kevin is her boss at the school district where she works as a teacher's aid.

I'm not sure how Kevin's authority extends into forensics, but maybe he knows how to use the internet.

I don't want it. I'd feel I'd have to find the owner or the next of kin.

Pretty sure it's a finger. Phalanx proximalis. Third one. What do you do with that?

It rained buckets last night. Nothing like a tropical shower. You can smell it coming before it lets loose, and the air becomes cool and moist. We had a good view from here of the clouds moving from Haleakala to Kihei and then over our heads at just about sunset. It lasted an hour or so, and the sky became dark with the clouds and the night. Before we went to bed, the dousing moved on and the stars were bright.

It was cool enough to sleep with just the ceiling fans going, so with the a/c noise abated, I fell asleep listening to the surf and the geckos chirping on the lanai.

Last night's chicken soup was very good.

Just having the carcass and no canned stock to build on, I decided to carmelize the onion first and set it aside. I deglazed the bottom of the pot with some white wine. Then I put the bones and water in the pot with Johnny's Seasoning and pepper (all I have in spice inventory). It simmered all afternoon. The fresh stock cooked down nicely to about a third of what I started out with. I added the chicken meat and vegetables (including the onion) to finish.

That works. I'll do it again. Carmelizing the onion made all the difference between bland and delicious.

We feel better now about eating the cocoa mochi and banana lumpia that Carmen brought us.

Alexander and Baldwin Sugar Museum is on the activity list today. There is just the one sugar mill still working on Maui. Hawaiian Commercial and Sugar Company in Sprecklesville (of course) is long gone, and the Pioneer Lahaina Mill closed about 1999.

I haven't read much about HC&S, but A&B is a major presence here on Maui. Sugar is only one division, most of the company's focus is real estate investment and development.

These sugar companies built the irrigation systems back in the mid 1800's that are still in use today. You can walk a trail in the Waihee valley and see the concrete ditches and siphons that have changed very little since those days.

I think the girls will enjoy the museum situated alongside the working mill. It is in the house formerly belonging the the plant superintendent, so they can appreciate the architechture of the day. Lots old equipment on the big lawn to walk around, and the old ways are documented with pictures and personal stories inside the plantation house.

Not much to do to get ready for the flight home. But we can't go anywhere until we shower and dress.

I'll make the first move.

Judy and Fran are out on the lanai reading paperback novels. I have a Michael Crichton I'm trying to get interested in. It's called Five Patients, and it must be the precursor to the television series, ER.

Last year, ER was the series rerun of choice for my insomnia occurances. I could watch three ER episodes most of those nights without having to search around through the informercials for satisfactory content. Billy Mays' shouting does not soothe me, but the resolution of ER's dramas can bring a sigh of relief and rest. Chicago Hope Hospital must have been blown up four times, hostages taken at gunpoint twice and I also learned how dangerous medical helicopters can be. One doctor got his arm severed by the blades, and months after he recovered from that, another one fell out of the sky and crushed him.

Everybody brought to ER gets entubated.




With all that hell breaking loose somewhere on a Hollywood set or in someone else's imagination, it's a relief to fall asleep in the quiet of my cottage on Miller Road.


Crichton has a good voice. I think I can finish this book. He's best known for Jurassic Park. That's not the kind of book I would read, but I gotta say the movie is one of my favorites.

Today we will go buy supplies for the condo that Carmen has requested. It shouldn't take very long, then we'll come back here and look for shells on the beach. There are little teeny tiny ones that wash up along the breakwater, and I have a collection in a glass container that I leave on a kitchen shelf. I add a few each time I'm here, and so do some of my guests. I think it's interesting that people who are strangers to me contribute but do not remove any.

There is still some good in mankind.

Yesterday we drove to Paia, then Makawao and upcountry past Kula to the winery. In Paia, I bought a shark suit for one of the dogs. Very silly, but irresitable. I see while on-line looking for a photo to post here, that I could have bought one at Target for about half the price. And that is how you explain the "tax on paradise."





It's our last night here. Traditionally, it's chicken soup night. We made three meals out of that whole chicken I baked a few nights ago. Quite a few leftovers can join the carcass in a big pot and it makes the heart glad waste is minimized.


We leave for home tomorrow on the Northwest Airlines red-eye. It lands in Seattle at about 5 a.m. I bought those tickets because they were $340 roundtrip at the time Hawaiian was advertising $475. Wouldn't you know the following week they matched at $340. Ah, well, so far no one is complaining, but the moaning should start about three hours into the flight when the flight attendants and small children keep us awake.

I brought my small children on airplanes, so I'm paying dues now, I guess.

And when I get home, well-refreshed, I have an interview at Island Hospital. It's just for volunteer work in the gift shop, but there are openings from time to time in admitting. From there, I'd like to look around for an executive secretary position. Gotta start somewhere, and I think this is pretty good.

But this morning, a very beautiful one on the island of Maui, I won't think too hard about going home just yet.

When we finally got going yesterday, it was decided we'd walk to the village shops and look around.

It's a tough economy as everybody knows, and I was sad to see Moonbow Tropics half it's former size, the candle and soap shop gone, and several empty spaces awaiting leases. The Maalaea Grill is doing well. It's had some starts and stops. The original owners sell it, then repossess and restore it, and sell it again.

Fran bought a very pretty palm tree pendant from the jeweler. We had ice cream cones for lunch. You have to work fast on your ice cream in Maalaea. With the winds convecting the 85 degree heat, you must turn it as you eat it. Quickly now, or it's running down your hand in rivelets.

We might as well ride the bus to Lahaina. There it is. It's $1 each way, no worries about parking, and if we have a mai tai, no worries about Maui's favorite local revenue raiser.

Not alot to say about the shopping in Lahaina. Retail dominates the scene, but there are still historical sites you can spend a day exploring if you choose. My favorite is the Wo Hing Museum. It was sort of a men's social club and religious temple, all-in-one. It was closed yesterday, so I didn't get to walk through it, but I think the history of the Chinese immigrants is one of the most interesting

They came as laborers, but put their highest priority on educating their children. As the generations passed, there were fewer Chinese in the lower classes and more in business and leadership. In the earliest days when Chinese women were few in the islands, the Chinese men intermarried with Hawaiian women, and their cultures have blended in subtile ways

The stories of the whalers and the missionaries are well-documented. The old church buildings, some constructed of lava bricks, are worth walking through. Some hymnals are in two languages; English and Hawaiian. It seems the old language is kept alive in the old Congregational (or Anglican) services, even if it has not been conversational language for many years. You can hear some Hawaiian words in the local "pigeonspeak" if you listen closely.

But this trio of ladies was in Lahaina to shop. We left no stone unturned, but only bought a few ounces of goods (not pakalolo, silly reader... clothing items!).


My big thrill was a hula demonstration in the courtyard under Moose McGillicudy's. A man played percussion while groupings of different ages danced. Looking closely at the man, I recognized him as Keali'i Reichel, one of my very favorite Hawaiian musical artists. Hey, Fran and Judy: that guy is a big star here! Not appearing as a big star today, but as kuma hulu, or teacher. His pride of the day was showing his students off, and he did not introduce himself. I did not blow his cover, of course.

There was some confusion and desperate thinking as it got dark and no one knew when the last bus back to Maalaea was. But there was no finger pointing, and we were able to get a schedule that reassured us we had not missed the last ride.

As I write this, Judy and Fran are on the lanai. I made cowboy coffee again, and they sip it and smoke their Marlboros, huddled together. They look like two little girls in a sandbox.

There is nothing so valuable in this world as good friends. I love the way I look reflected in their eyes. At this time in my life, with the major changes in progress, it's such comfort to be far away from home and so well-cared for. It's just a week, but it's a therapy that will keep me strong enough to tackle some hard work in the weeks or months ahead.

We've seen the eagle ray and the monk seal perform in the harbor these mornings. I don't see them every visit, and maybe I can believe they are here just for us. The local fishermen cast their lines into the water, the canoe club paddles by, and the tour boats come and go. "Freight Trains," a southern ocean swell famous for it's speed, is coming up and there will be surfers to watch in the next hour or so. It's just outside the breakwater, and we have the prime seats.

I invited Tim over for dinner. He has a new love interest who is very pretty and nice. When he introduced me to her, we chatted awhile and talked about getting together, and I told her to be sure and feel welcome. He called me the next morning and said, "Thank you for that. You made me look good and this one is real special to me."

Glad I could help!

I'm off to enjoy an abundance of nothing to do. If you can imagine such a thing, it does exist here.

After three nights in the condo on Maui, we feel like we are at home here.


Yesterday the three of us drove to Wailea to look at the Beautiful Resorts, and found parking prohibitive all all except the Four Seasons. You'd think as much as places like that enjoying sucking up money they'd make it easier to get it to them. The Grand Wailea has a lot that sits out in the hot sun with a gate and attendant. Are we supposed to pay to park here? There is no sign indicating terms. There is valet parking, but is that just for hotel guests? Again, no sign indicating terms.

The Four Seasons lets you park in their garage for two hours. That works.

The lobbies and grounds are splendid. The shops are dazzling. I looked at a three carat pigeon's blood ruby in a platinum setting with pave diamonds and said wow. You just don't see that color and size anywhere, they are becoming so rare. The lady said I could put it on. Such a thrill. I told her, I can't have this, you know. She said it's quite alright to play and entertain myself. How much is it, I asked. $55,000.00 she said.

I showed her the quarter-carat ruby I wear lately. It's the same color as yours however small, but I'd rather have a tiny good one than a larger pinkish one. We smiled at each other and became sisters.

A ruby of the quality I beheld can cost ten times what a diamond of the same size and quality would cost.


La de dah.

We drove back to the condo via Kihei Road so we could see the tourists all jammed together around the chaos that makes up the small town. The beaches of Kihei are the best on the island, though. Kamaole III is my favorite. We stopped at Five Palms and had a cocktail, then pushed onward.

Dinner on the lanai here is so sublime. And I have galley slaves. I cook up the supper, and my friends clean up after me. I feel so powerful.

This morning the coffee maker quit, and those silly women sat out on the lanai trying to absorb caffeine from Coca Cola. That just doesn't work. Here, I said, is a sieve and a coffee filter. You can heat water to boiling on this electric range here and pour it through the sieve into a pot.
Judy and Fran are so easy to amaze.

Today we have no plan. We'll see where the steed named Pontiac wants to go.

This is all so doggone relaxing I can't put it into words!

We Can See Lanai from the Lanai

This is the second ful day on Maui with my friends Judy and Fran. The weather is perfect, although there is heavy rain in the pali valleys. That's where the flash floods are that you see in the weather reports. The floods dash the hopes of any would-be hikers, but that's not us, so we don't care.

I see heavy clouds over Haleakala, too.

Yesterday we bought new outfits at Macys, stocked the kitchen, and took a king salmon to my housekeeper, Carmen. She takes wonderful care of this condo and nothing makes her happier than a whole fish (well, it's been beheaded and gutted).

Carmen has a large household. Like many Filipinos' homes, her roof covers her husand and herself, along with both of her grown children and their young families. She is a very energetic and thoroughly good person, a rarity, and I am so fortunate to know her.

We found mango and pineapple dessert in the refrigerator on arrival. And we casually asked about banana lumpia and cocoa mochi... I bet it they magically appear, still warm.

We have been out for a couple meals, but we'll mostly eat in. The views from the lanai are unbeatable, and this kitchen is good.

This afternoon we'll wander the elegant hotels on the Wailea side. It costs nothing to be there and take it all in. The Four Seasons and Grand Wailea are really over the top. I haven't traveled the world, but I'd bet it would be hard to find any places more elegant than those.

Tomorrow might be a boat ride. I found my friend, Tim, at the Maalaea Grill last night. He can fit us into a tour on the Hokua that isn't full and we get a good discount. I refer lots of business to him. How to describe this guy? Certainly one of the "local color." He's a bit rotund and plain, but he always has women around him. They really like him. He's mananged to stay a life-long bachelor and has that joy de vivre that most of us never quite grasp. Good on ya, Tim.

With luck, we could get an invite to one of his poolside dinners. Fresh caught ono or whatever's running. Everyone brings a side dish and beverage... so nice as the sun sets and the tradewinds blow gentle.

Beyond that, no plans. And that's the way to be. We will enjoy the comfortable chairs at the expensive hotel lobbies, watching the typical tourist scramble for activities that stress them out and empty their wallets.

Let everyone have a great time, including the timeshare salesmen, the service workers and the vendors at the gift shops!

Portland Road Trip

Our son, Ross, is seventeen years old. His older brothers have been out of the house for over ten years. That makes him more or less an only child. As anyone who's raised teenagers knows, these creatures are a sullen lot who do not like to be seen with parents. Family vacations are mandatory attendance, and even a trip to someplace like Disneyland can be regarded the same way school detention is.

We've always encouraged Ross and his friends to hang around our house. I keep lots of soda and snack food here, and there are six acres including a pond with an island to play on. There are pinball and shuffleboard in the game room and a big screen TV they can play video games on.

Even so, we've confronted drug and alcohol use, scholastic negligence and all the other evils of a permissive society. There seem to be few consequences for aberrant behavior. Maybe because there is so much bad behavior there's not enough consequence to go around. Certainly that's the case with the so-called War Against Drugs. It would be better named The Occassional Skirmishes With Particularly Stupid and Obvious Users/Dealers.

Ross smoked marijuana for the first time with members of a Christian youth group in junior high school.

What's a parent to do? The boys know they are welcome here but that anyone smelling of intoxicants will be asked to leave. There are about eight boys who respect that rule and are "regulars" around here. I was a little surprised who toes the line. One boy's mother allows parties in her house while she is home and even parties with them. But he respects my rules.

The contrast between the smoky house where nobody does anything and the non-smoky house where there is lots of activity could make a guy think, I hope.

A couple of weekends ago, we took four teenaged boys on a car trip to Portland from our home north of Seattle. This had been in the planning since about February, when I told a group of doubters we could could make the trip when school was out.

Really? You'll take us all to Portland?

Sure, I'll borrow you all from your parents. Ross will have instant brothers to travel with.

The destination was Daddies Boardshop. The be-all and end-all of the skateboard and longboard retail experience. Daddies signature t-shirt says "Giving Portland Police Something to Do Since 1994." Our particular group of boys are longboarders. They will proudly inform you that longboarding is about distance and speed while skateboarding is about tricks and stunts in a park setting.

Portland is one of the most liberal cities on the Left Coast. Somebody convinced the city council that a longboard is a means of transportation just like a bicycle or a car, and so boarders should have the same right to travel. But police don't like it when longboarder casually scoots through 25 mile per hour posted areas at 35 mph plus.

The stuff fantasies are built on in teenaged minds.

The best way I know to find out what's going on with teenagers is to take them on a long car trip. They kinda forget you're there after awhile and talk freely. It's very entertaining, the stream of consciousness style of conversation. It goes something like this:

"Cody, I told you not to wear that Got Purple? t-shirt. Mom doesn't like it."

"Sorry, dude. It's the only clean one I had. Is there a washing machine at the hotel?"

"Dunno. You can wear one of mine till we get to Daddies and then you can buy one."

"I think I'll buy one from a brewpub. That way I can give it to my stepdad. I owe him money anyway."

"Did you see that movie, Brewfest? That was funny! Willie Nelson tells this joke at the end: "A dad walks into his son's room and says, 'Son, if you keep masturbating you'll go blind.' The son says, 'I'm over here, Dad.'"

"My mom says eating carrots makes you see better."

"So, Tyler, I suppose you eat carrots when you masturbate."

John and I try not to laugh too loud, so they don't remember that we can hear them.

We stopped at South Center Mall for lunch because there's a food frolic there with something for everyone at cheap prices. They wisely chose Johnny Rockets for burger combos for the good quantity at the $7 limit imposed on them.

Back in the car for the three hours remaining on the road to Portland.

The boys were happy to see that the hotel was in a developing area with lots of vacant lots and clean asphalt. The longboards came out of the Tahoe's boot and away they went to explore while John and I navigated the on-ramps and off-ramps to the Jantzen Beach Safeway for provisions.

We did not see a beach at Jantzen Beach. But the Marriott Residence Inn there is a great place to bring a bunch of kids. Two bedrooms, two baths with three TVs and a kitchen. When the boys got back from the exploration, they were kept busy with a pool, spa, and work-out room. Good thing, because it was too late in the day to go to Daddies.

I think Daddies does three times as much mail order as walk-up business because they are so well-established and savvy with the kids. Some of the "kids" are in their thirties.

We got there the next morning a little early, so we left the boys milling around in front of the entrance while we visited the donut shop on the other side of the parking lot. The Asian owner picked up his phone and called Daddies, "Better open up, you've got customers." We are in a recession, after all.

Ross asked for Dan (Daddie himself) at the front counter. He briefed Dan on the expected purchases and negotiated a cash discount. That's my boy! It looked like things were under control, so John and I left them to go explore the Hollywood and Old Town neighborhoods of Portland.

On the way out the door I noticed a poster advertising the Rose City Rollers. There were a couple of championship bouts set for the next evening. I remembered roller derby from my childhood in the San Francisco Bay Area. The Bay City Rollers in Oakland were very popular in the 1960s. We'd watch the bouts on Sunday afternoon television, mostly because the cartoons were over. It was wild and intense. I thought the boys would like it.

From the Rose City Rollers MySpace page:

"Rose City Rollers (RCR) was founded by a small band of gritty, gutsy, nostalgic gals who decided to dust off their quad skates and hit the pavement in August of 2004. Since then, the league has expanded tremendously and now is home to 130+ skaters, four home teams, a junior derby team for high school girls, and a nationally-ranked all-star team."

We drove through the Hollywood neighborhood and across the Willamette River. A few blocks later we found a brewpub called Tug Boat Brewery. It's a small, darkish, definitely owner-run establishment. Looked like a good place to try a hand-crafted beer. Not much of a beer drinker myself, I encouraged John to ask the barkeep, a pretty young woman of about 26 what she recommended. She and I struck up a conversation about small business and economy. She said she was the owner of the brewery/restaurant and introduced me to a female friend while John chatted with a few male beer drinkers.

"What do you know about the Rose City Rollers?" I asked.

Big smiles.

"We're on the Heartless Heathers team!" said the barkeep, nodding toward her friend. I explained that we were thinking of treating four teenaged boys to the event.

"Barfly" (nickname) told us to be sure they got there early so they could see the drum corps and some other pre-game entertainment. There would be instruction on the history of the game and how it is scored. We were assured the boys would have a great time.

It's a colorful sport, alright. The players have nicknames like "Miss Behavior," "Vominatrix," "Apocalypstick," and "Tara Heartout." Costumes include ripped fishnet stockings, satin fabric, dayglow colored hair and tiaras.

I showed the poster to the boys when we met later. These are tough chicks, but some of them are good looking, I informed them. The kids were very willing to be dropped off at the arena while John and I went out to find a nice dinner.

The boys got back to the hotel before we did. Somewhat of a surprise. They told us the intensity does not stop on the roller rink, but goes all the way up the stands. The crowd is as passionate as the players, and although they cheered for the Heartless Heathers (of course), the fans of the other team, the Break Neck Betties, outshouted them and wore them to a frazzle. They were too pooped to stay for the second bout.

The next morning I asked if anyone wanted to see the Portland Zoo or any of the other attractions in Portland. No, they said, they wanted to go back to Daddies to try out the bungee contraption Dan showed them. Bungee? It's a braided cord about ten feet long with two handles on it. You stand on your skateboard and a couple of your friends arrange it like a slingshot on a light pole or street sign and pull you back. Then you turn loose of it and go from zero to 35 mph in an instant.

I was thinking about the short parking lot and the four lanes of traffic on Sandy Boulevard in front of Daddies Boardshop. I was assured that they'd meet at an elementary school playground so I gave consent. Well, ok, but I'm not gonna watch.

I knew they didn't have $225 remaining in their pockets to buy the damned thing, so I wasn't going to worry about it.

I quietly bought four Daddies logo t-shirts, away from John's sight. He'd think I was spoiling the boys.

After the bungee demonstration, we took them to Mt Tabor Park so they could try out their new boards. It's a really nice place with the walking and biking trail chained off so there are no cars. Good hills, curves and straights. Good pavement. We were a day early for "Bomb the Zoo," at which the City of Portland baracades off about three miles of city street including the road passing through the zoo itself. Just for bicycles and longboarders, one Sunday a month. Big disappointment there, but many vows to return someday.

On the way back home, the boys were happy and sleepy. We dropped the last one off at his house and pulled into the driveway.

I went to unload Ross' backpack and miscellany out of the Tahoe.

"What's this? Who does this red backpack belong to?"

Ross looked down at his shoes, and John quickly went into the house.

"It's the bungee." Ross said quietly, "We bought it together. Dad loaned us the money for it."

I suppose we all spoil kids differently. I thought they would look cool in matching t-shirts while they skate around Skyline. With the addition of the bungee, at least the ER docs will know they're together, and that should make it easier to round up parents to sign consent forms.

Spring Cleaning

Ok. I'm going to clean out the kitchen drawer that grabs the stuff I'm clearing from the counters when company is imminent. That false impression I like to give that it's tidy around here. Sometimes it is.

Receipts are easy. Those go in a folding file. The M-80s I took away from the teenagers can stay there until July. Here's the silver plumeria earring I thought I lost. And here's a sample of barbecue rub... I'll just put that on the counter. I might use it tonight.

Here are two ticket stubs from July 2006. Crosby Stills Nash & Young at Red Rocks Ampitheater, Denver, Colorado. My adult son, Chris, and I were there. Unforgettable. David Crosby said in his second biography that the Red Rocks Freedom of Speech gig was one of the best they ever played. Hey! We were there!

The itinerary from here to Spearfish, South Dakota was one of my good ideas. Nobody in my household was interested in the Hoverson family reunion but me. "South Dakota in July? Too hot! Are you nuts?" Mom and Dad would drive, as usual, out of consideration for the little dog that goes everywhere they go.

Airfare from Seattle or Bellingham to Rapid City was about $700. But what if I flew into Denver and visit with my friend, Amber, then rent a car and drive from Denver to Spearfish and back? Those airplane tickets are $220. I looked around for things to do in Denver (why not?). Never been to Denver before.

"Hey, Chris. Wanna fly to Denver with me? We can see Crosby Stills Nash and Young at Red Rocks Amphitheater, stay overnight, and then drive up to Spearfish for that family reunion. We'll stay two days and drive back to Denver for the flight home. Wouldn't that be an adventure?"

My 29 year old son has inherited my good sense, so he could see a good time and quickly agreed. After all, we could both fly and ride for less than the cost of one direct ticket. Two for one. And rock and roll superstars in brand new territory.

The Denver airport is not in Denver but quite a ways east in Aurora. Right in the path of lightning storms and blizzards. We avoided the blizzards, it being July, but did arrive with lighting around our heads. Landing was ok, but it was waiting for baggage that took an hour or so. They can't send the baggage carriers out it for fear of lighting strikes, but the clouds move by like trains with several minutes in between.

We got the rental car, and nice stodgy Ford Taurus, and set out for Denver. Not knowing where I'm going has never stopped me and I'm used to surprises. The hotel was in Lakewood, not Denver. The concert was in Morrison, not Denver. "Denver" doesn't mean Denver, necessarily, and all of these places are twenty miles from downtown. Fortunately, Lakewood is on the same side of Denver as Morrison is. Amber lives in Golden. Not too bad.

The hotel clerk suggested we get an early start for Morrison to beat the traffic. She said parking was pretty far from the event, and we might like a taxi. We took her advice and she called one for us. Very easy ride to a place we never would have guessed was there. The amphitheatre is tucked into foothills that rise into the Rocky Mountains.

We stepped out of the cab and looked for the entrance. I bet we walked a mile up switchbacked trail until we reached the seating. Remembering we started upward from "the Mile High City," we took our time. There were paramedics at two stations for those of us whose hearts might seize up from the altitude and aerobics. It happens.

Ah, here we are. We walked through a gauntlet of charitable organization groups occupying booths and practicing free speech. You can speak freely, too, if you agree with them. Otherwise prepare for nasty insults. I'd learned that lesson long ago, so went straight for the beverage vendors. Chris and I each got a tasty beer, then climbed another 70 feet in altitude to our assigned seats.

What a beautiful place! The City of Denver owns this huge, perfectly acoustic venue. Rock formations and boulders make it perfect for the outdoor performances that have been going on since the early 1900s. It can seat over 9,000 people.

We got Kosher hotdogs and waited for the performance.

Rock gods! You can read reviews of the three concerts given that weekend at Red Rocks, so I won't even attempt one. As the sky grew dark, we could see lightning storms over the city of Denver and its skyscrapers twenty miles or so away. There were no clouds where we sat.

"Guinevere" and "Helplessly Hoping" gave me goosebumps. "Almost Cut my Hair" made me laugh. The old guys played until almost midnight.

Back at the entrance, we looked around for a taxi. Someone said there'd be plenty of them arriving soon. We observed tour buses near where we stood. A van unloaded six cases of Stella Artois. I asked one of the drivers, "Is the band here?" He said heck no, they'd left for their hotel right after the last note played. Hmmm... well, I wouldn't bother them, but at least I was standing pretty close. That's kinda exciting.

We got up the next morning as early as we could stand it and found the road to Spearfish woven through greater Denver, past the airport and north on Interstate 25. About two hours into the drive, we thought we could eat. Fort Collins Next Exit. Hey, that's where Dan's Bake Sale was! Let's go check it out!

For those of you in Rio Linda who don't know what Dan's Bake Sale was about, I should spare you the story... but those of us who know would want to check it out.

There aren't any signs of that 1993 event in Fort Collins now, but it is a really nice little college town (University of Colorado). It's also the home of New Belgium Brewery and a bunch of tech companies. It's got to be one of the prettiest places I've seen, with the Pouder River running through it, lots of green park area, and the Colorado Front Range alongside.

We found a really great Japanese restaurant with sidewalk tables. We watched the slow and easy downtown traffic and enjoyed the warm breezes, just right. Ok, we'll stop at one brewery.

O'Dell Brewery for just a few minutes... we shared a sampler. Pretty darned competent brewer. I bought a six pack to take home to John, without thinking about the season and outside temperatures. As a result, I carried it with me the whole trip to avoid letting it sit in the car and overheat. Just like a handbag.

Back in the car for hours and hours. Cheyenne, Wyoming was interesting, but we couldn't stop because we'd lost too much time in Fort Collins. Prairie dog towns line the freeway... hundreds of miles of rodent condos. Holes and mounds. A sentinel here, a sentinel there. No trees, no water, no cell phone signal. They could send a good 30% of Wyoming up to Alaska and no one would miss it, I think. Big ranch lands with long gravel driveways that disappear into seemingly nothing. One driveway had a billboard that said "Boner Ranch 10 Miles East." Chris made me turn around and stop the car so he I could take his photo standing next to it. There were other ranches that had signs mentioning an ownership by the Boner Family Ranch. You couldn't help but think... oh, never mind.

You can google "Boner Ranch" and you can find that lots of people have found this photo op irresistible. Amazing, since you can drive over an hour at a time and not meet another car.

The map required us to leave I-25 at US-85, which leads one from Lusk to Newcastle. My cousin told me that from Newcastle we had three choices of highway to Spearfish, but she couldn't give me a preference having never traveled to Newcastle herself.

You won't see much town in Lusk. Newcastle is clearly the center of activity for a hundred miles in any direction. There may be 3,000 people there but you'll only see 25 of them, maybe. We found a cafe on the top floor of an old granary. There was a drive-through liquor store on the ground level. What are you going to do?

The Old Mill Inn is probably the cleanest eatery I've ever set foot in. All paneled in melamine, it really shines. There is a dining room in the rear that has antelope antler chandeliers and a prime rib buffet on special nights. We waived the ambiance for the efficiency of the cafe front and had some pretty good cheeseburgers.

We asked around for directions to Spearfish using road map we got at the last gas stop. Everyone we asked peered at it and pointed at one of the three routes saying things like, "This one looks the shortest," "This one goes through the prairie and around the hills." "I think I've been on this one once." It turned out that no one we asked had ever been to Spearfish even though it was only about 60 miles away! We chose the one that went through the prairie and around the Black Hills just because someone said antelope are active at night and like to jump out in front of cars. We'd seen the carcasses positioned along the freeway, about one every five miles in differing states of decomposition. Straight, flat road sounded like the best visibility now that it was nighttime. Could someone have mentioned that 20 miles of that road was in gravel because of a repaving project? How would they know?

Three hours later we found Spearfish, the motel, and the boxy beds. But we slept very, very soundly. Chris came out of his room first and brought me coffee, sweet thing. Then we went to meet the relatives at the Booth History Fish Hatchery, where my cousin Randi is curator. Tours and lunch, then on your own until dinner for everyone at the Bay Leaf Cafe, $20 per person.

Mom and Dad arrived just in time for dinner, after an engine change in Billings, Montana. That's another story, and so many bad things could have happened to them except for the good nature of so many small town Americans. May God bless that mechanic.

I won't describe the town of Spearfish and the family reunion except to say that the Black Hills is beautiful country and there are lots of really old people who go to those things. We had a very nice visit and even got to see the Reptile Gardens in Rapid City. If you get a chance, be sure and see this most famous roadside attraction. It's been perpetuated with great class since 1937.

The car ride back to Denver was long and dull. It was hard to miss anything on the first pass through because there is so little to see. Lots of odometer watching. Cheyenne might be worth exploring someday.

We spent that night at Amber's house (she was back from a business trip), got a mini tour of Golden and downtown Denver the next day, then back to the friendly skies. We were home just after midnight and thoroughly worn out.

So today, I'm staring at these concert tickets and the messy drawer. I've wasted a half hour daydreaming, remembering... now I need a nap.

There's still enough room in the drawer for more junk. Why worry?

A Night in Santa Monica

We are back from the Land of the Beautiful People. It was an impulsive decision based upon opportunity, air fares, and that Paul and Cindy have a beautiful home in a great area. Huntington Beach is removed from the congestion that is Orange County and the Greater Los Angeles area, but you can get to fantastic sights and venues within a half hour or so on the famous freeways. They were our next door neighbors when we lived in Parkside. Paul is a chemical engineer and was employed at Tesoro, Anacortes. When we met them, they were just back in the U.S. after seven years in Saudi Arabia on assignment. That made for lots of storytelling, and we got to know them as very interesting people.

Our plane landed at John Wayne International in torrents of rain. As the plane circled around the county airspace we could see a reservoir in the Anaheim Hills overflowing with muddy water toward a wash. Southern Californians don't handle rain very well. Hills slide downward and the roads become slick as water floats on oily asphalt. Nothing gets the regular rinsing we are used to in Western Washington. It stopped raining around days' end, though, and we were treated to a bright sunny day when we awoke on Saturday.
Paul took us to downtown Huntington Beach, along with Mabry their border collie, and we walked the commercial district, then along the beach for a couple miles, and back to the car through a residential neighborhood. Everybody in town was at the beach, celebrating that the Biblical floods had not returned and all was as it should be. The beaches are several blocks wide in some places, and carefully groomed. Law enforcement keeps a close eye on every cigarette butt, dog discharge, and might-be alcohol container. There are strict statutory limits to the fun you can have, but considering the population density, there are hardly grounds for complaint.
Cindy told me about some kind of raid that took place in their gated community a week or so ago. There were about five police cars and a helicopter participating about two blocks from their house. She said law enforcement is prompt and legion at most any complaint a citizen wants to call in. Just outside the city limits are the great unwashed, who are strongly encouraged to keep their mayhem on their side of the line.

When we returned to the house after the beach walk, Cindy was finished with her business and ready for a jaunt to Santa Monica and places trendy. We had tickets to a comedy club called the Groundlings, and the plan was to start at the Santa Monica Pier and work our way up Santa Monica Boulevard, through Beverly Hills on Melrose Avenue where the theatre is. They hadn't been up that way yet, so it was adventure for all four of us.
We passed the house that had entertained law enforcment the week before. There were balloons and crepe paper hung around the yard. "A birthday party?" Cindy asked. "More likely a Released Pending Trial party," said Paul.
We did not see the Bluth family frozen banana stand at the Pier. You can get your name written on a grain of rice, have your image sculpted with modeling clay, buy a churro, ride on a carousel, and enjoy all of the attractions California's pier parks are famous for. The amusement park looks a little tired, so do most of the vendors and performers along the walk. A man with a marionette called feebly to the passersby... his companion's strings were tangled and all they could muster was standing up and sitting down (an occasional turn) to Michael Jackson's "Thriller" on a boom box. One fairly well-dressed black man played Jimmy Hendrix and Stevie Ray Vaughn compositions on an out-of-tune electric guitar. A Japanese-American had the big spot at the end of the pier (past the greasy waterfront seafood restaurant) with a rythym ace and synthesizer. His guitar played one melody while the rythym ace and synthesizer seemed to be set to their own melodies. He sang in Spanish with an Asian accent. No one seemed to mind. The few tourists sitting in the bleachers applauded and tipped him. John said we needed to move on before he got carsick.

A dozen people fished at the end of the dock while sail boats zigged and zagged out in the ocean. Some seals and pelicans sat on rocks that jutted here and there.

We left that idyllic scene for the Third Street Promenade that Cindy had heard about. While stepping away from the boardwalk, I was thinking where is the fantastic talent I hear about this close to Hollywood? Why is this famous Pier so sleezy? And just then, in the shadow of the Pier's police station was a young man with a guitar in tune and a very good voice singing something, probably original, with a small appreciative audience. But the march was on, so I couldn't stop.There are lots of Promenades in Southern California. That is what they call a sort of outdoor mall that is a transformed section of downtown retail blocks. The downtown cores that once died because of exciting new shopping malls are finding new life by turning the streets into wide pedestrian avenues. Restaurants have sidewalk seating and stores can display enticing samples of merchandise in front of their windows.
Street performers are of a better quality than at the Santa Monica Pier. A little bit of everything... a Flamenco guitarist, a high school jazz band, and a puzzling gymnastic performance by an amputee. This is not high-end retail, but what you might see at a small town mall: Crate and Barrel, Victoria's Secret, Baskin Robbins... that sort of thing.
Marching and promenading had taken us past lunch and we were all getting a little hungry. It was a little too cold, even by Washington standards, to sit at a sidewalk table. We found a pretty nice Italian restaurant that had some window tables. It was Valentines Day, and a Saturday, but only 4:00, so we inquired about one of the window tables. Yes, said the hostess, but I need the table at 5:15 or so.
Dinner was very good, and we enjoyed watching the people walking by. Some tourists, some locals in varying degrees of wonder and boredom.
Behind us in the dining room, two busboys carried a deuce table and two chairs, then plunked it down between two others, reducing the gap. Then came another. And another. Just like in the Marx Brothers movie, "A Night in Casablanca." Harpo and Chico were trying to find money for Groucho's bail. They discovered that the nightclub Maitre'd received a big tip each time he seated a couple. Harpo and Chico quickly began bringing in one table after another until the dance floor shrank to nothing while the patrons became dismayed. Chico flourished the wad of currency, shook hands with a grinning Harpo, and they rushed off to free Groucho.
I can't say much about Beverly Hills except that it looks fantastic, even in the dark. There are valet stands in the middle of each block, sometimes one on each corner. I counted three Pilates studios among the boutiques and bistros. This is clearly a neighborhood of elegance and convenience. You will not see a McDonald's or Blockbuster here.
Melrose Avenue is for the elegant eccentrics. The chic dining and valet stands continue, but are also stores called "Retail Slut," "The Freak Show Tattoo and Body Piercing Studio," and the "Snake Pit Ale House." But these are not the kind you find at Venice Beach... no, you need a platinum Visa card in your wallet.
That is where the Groundlings' theater is. Down the street a half mile or so is the Improv and some other famous places. I think someone said Paramount Pictures is nearby. The Groundlings perform in a very small venue. Maybe it seats seventy five people. There is a three-piece band tucked into a corner and a semi-circle wooden stage with a center curtain and a stage door on either side.
From Wikipedia: "The Groundlings is an improvisational comedy troupe based in Los Angeles, California, USA. The troupe was formed by Gary Austin in 1974 and uses an improv format influenced by Viola Spolin to produce sketches and improvised scenes. Many Groundlings performers have found success in movies and television, including several who have become cast members and writers on Saturday Night Live, MADtv, and Reno 911!."
I'm not going to write a review, but I will say this is one of the best shows I've seen in years. It was funny without being dirty... there was a little nautiness, but you could take your auntie to it.

After the show, as we stood at the valet stand waiting for the car, I looked around and said, "It's 10:00 and this street is just getting started!" Paul said it would stay festive until 2 a.m. He and John looked over toward El Guapo Rock & Roll Cantina. Cindy and I shook our heads. Overstimulated and worn out, we climbed into the car to close the evening.